


Pyro Techniques

by Zoonr



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fireworks fic, July 4th, MSR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-31
Updated: 2003-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2669252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoonr/pseuds/Zoonr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder takes Scully out to watch the fireworks.  Sparks fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pyro Techniques

**Author's Note:**

> TIMELINE: This doesn't take place during any specific season. It fits almost anywhere pre-baby. 
> 
> I spent my first ever July 4th in DC this year (2004) and this story just tumbled out. A huge thanks to Jaime Lyn for the magnificent and very prompt beta. 
> 
> This story was originally posted at my website zoonr.tripod.com in July 2003.

"Never? In nearly ten years?" Mulder says.

I look up at him. He stands with hands on hips, mouth hanging open, eyes incredulous.

"Don't forget college and Med school before the FBI. Basically half my life," I say.

"Unbelievable."

He's wearing his 'bad cop' interrogator mask, and I guess that makes me the intimidated subject he's trying to get a confession out of. At least, that's what he's hoping for. You'd think I just told him that I believed I am Christ-reincarnate, rather than just admitted to never experiencing the Fourth of July fireworks extravaganza from the National Mall.

As if I'm the only one.

"It's true, Mulder." I narrow my eyes to slits, lean towards him and lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "There are others... like me. Out there." I wink at him to finish off my bad, mysterious spy impression.

"Like who?" He doesn't want to play along. He's still using his 'I want some damn answers' voice. Usually, I'm the serious one. It catches me off guard, so I answer his question.

"Brenda Jenkins, for one. The analyst in BSU." I've lost the playful façade I had a moment ago, and feel irritation drip into my bloodstream. What difference does it make to him if I've seen the damn fireworks? When did he become the fun police? I continue with my unnecessary justification nonetheless. "She's lived in D.C. her entire life, and has never even been to the Lincoln Memorial."

"But it's the Fourth of July, Scully."

He says that as if it's supposed to make me suddenly understand the meaning of life. Like it's the answer to everything in existence.

"How many times have you gone, Mulder?"

I figure I'll try a little deflection. If I can point out his own social shortcomings it will be easier for me to make a quick get-away onto a different topic: at least for a while. Mulder may have a microscopic attention span, but his memory is frighteningly good, for lack of word better befitting a super-human. Maybe if I divert his attention for a moment, it will be long enough for me to make my escape.

"Twice."

"Only twice?"

"Twice is better than zero, isn't it? This is something every American should do at least once in their lifetime. It's the American equivalent to making a pilgrimage to Mecca."

"Mecca? Really, Mulder?"

He continues to look down at me with an intense look. His face is serious, but I can see the twinkle behind those beautiful green eyes. He's replaced the hands-on-his-hips look with a crossed-arm posture. Apparently, he has no interest in letting me off the hook. I sigh, and lean back in Mulder's chair.

"Truthfully, Mulder, it just never appealed to me."

All I had wanted to do was find a box of staples.

I'd sat down at Mulder's desk while I thought he was upstairs in the cafeteria grabbing an overpriced, end of the day before a holiday break cup of coffee. I was rummaging through his disturbingly disorganized drawers, when he burst into the office two minutes after leaving it sans coffee grilling me in his usual schizophrenic flurry.

Maybe Mulder doesn't have a short attention span so much as he as Attention Deficit Disorder. I'm convinced that if he were an eight year old today, he'd be eating Ritalin like it was Pez. If he weren't routinely subjected to mandatory bureau drug tests, I'd probably suspect he was taking Speed. But that's another discussion altogether.

"Why not? That's like saying you want to eat spaghetti for Thanksgiving. No fireworks on the Fourth of July? Un-American, plain and simple."

"I never said I didn't like fireworks. Just not on the mall."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it, Scully."

He pulls up a chair, and leans back in it, finally giving up the fake tough guy routine. We both know better, anyway. Not that he can't wear down the bad guys if he wants to, but Mulder's really more the Sherlock Holmes, talk-you-to-death type than the Mr. T., I-pity-the-fool type.  
"I don’t want to try it, Mulder. I don't understand anybody's desire to get to the mall at ten a.m., scour the area for a vacant six-by-six square of grass that's so trampled and dry that it's basically just dirt and straw, fight off a million people in the ninety degree July heat and humidity, all to watch a half an hour display of fireworks some twelve hours later. And then as a bonus, you get to race said million people for the fastest route out of the city."

"God, it sounds awful when you put it that way. Perhaps becoming a slave race to alien invaders isn't the worst thing imaginable after all," he says with perfect Mulder-esque expressionless face and flat voice.

Then he stands up suddenly.

"Ten o'clock tomorrow morning, Scully. Wear shorts and shades."

He swirls around on his heals, heads toward the door picking up his suit coat from the rack on his way.

"No, Mulder. I'm spending the day at my mom's tomorrow." I lie. I really just wanted to lock myself in my apartment, throw myself on my sofa with the book I've been dying to read for a month, bask in the air conditioning, and watch the festivities on the news. Thrilling, I know. But at this point in my life, it sounds like Heaven.

As he reaches the door, he turns back. He's calling my bluff, and he knows he's got me beat.

"Ten o'clock Scully. I'll pick you up. Wear comfortable shoes."

He turns around, opens the office door, and heads into the hallway as I sit there unsure what else I can say to get out of this.

When he's out of sight, I stand up and yell after him.

"Mulder, it's only four-thirty. Where are you going?"

I hear his disembodied voice say something about "a little shopping" before I hear the elevator doors close.

Apparently, I need to do a little shopping of my own. For Sunblock, because it looks like I'll be spending my Independence Day in heat.

The heat.

I mean, in the sun. Oh, lord.

*~*~*~*~*~

"Mulder, I can't believe you wanted to take the Metro. Do you know how long it's going to take us to get out of here later?"

The escalator slowly moves us up out of the cool subway tunnel and into the bright holiday sun. Already, at eleven in the morning, a flood of people exit the station with us, all carrying various coolers, folding chairs and decked out in the obligatory red, white and blue. Parents usher their children along, some enthusiastically babbling about the upcoming fireworks, some dosing in strollers. The Metro station closest to the monuments, the Smithsonian Metro, is closed for the holiday, so Mulder and I must walk an extra block or two to get to the National Mall, where I presume thousands of others like us have already staked their claim on the perfect spot of grass to unfold a blanket, and spend the day waiting for the show to begin.

"Where did you get that, anyway?"

Mulder is carrying what looks like a hiking backpack. It's small, but it looks brand new.

"What? I camp."

I shoot him a look which he knows means I know he's full of it. Mulder and camping is comparable to a wolf raising a kitten. It's not outside the realm of possibility, you've heard about it in myth, but in reality it's more likely than not to end in disaster.

"That's right. You were an Indian Guide. I guess I didn't realize that Indian Guides carry nylon backpack coolers into the wilderness."

"Be prepared, that's our motto."

"That's the Boy Scouts, Mulder."

"No wonder I never made Indian Chief."

He shrugs and I stifle a snort. Suddenly the image of a pre-teen Mulder wearing a tacky, costume Indian headdress is almost too much. Especially when I just as suddenly picture him wearing Indian deerskin pants and nothing else. Tight deerskin pants, and a little bit of war paint. What is wrong with me lately? Somehow I don't think that's a typical train of thought for professional co-workers. I'll blame it on the oppressive Washington DC summer weather.

Mulder continues playing the wise hiking guide.

He squints up at the sun and crinkles his brow. "Well, the position of the sun tells me that if we head that way, south by southwest, we should reach our destination in approximately five minutes." Mulder points toward the Washington Monument, which juts upward front of us. It's the same Washington Monument that both of us have passed hundreds of times, but Mulder talks as if it is a lighthouse guiding us safely to a foreign shore.

"Thanks," I say in mock appreciation. "Now the next time we get lost in the Hoover building, I won't be so terrified knowing you're there with me."

I'm only half joking, by the way. They should teach a class at the academy on navigational techniques in the Hoover Building. One would think it would be relatively easy - take elevator, go down to basement. That's until you realize there are approximately twenty-five elevator banks all around the building. New agents should get hazard pay just for showing up to work.

I'm about to ask Mulder if he remembers the time I had to guide him via cell phone out of the payroll department when he grabs my wrist, and picks up the pace. He's still wearing that adorable smile - though I'll never say that to his face. He's pulling me along as though he knows exactly where he's taking me. He probably does. But unless he convinced Frohike to hold it for him, I don't see how he can possibly think he'll get the perfect fireworks viewing spot in the middle of this mess. There are already so many people.

"Come on, Scully. We've got an agenda to follow."

"An agenda?" I arch an eyebrow at him. How long has he been planning this? "I thought we were looking for a place to park."

"All in good time. First things first."

After a couple minutes of walking, we finally arrive at the northern edge of the two-mile stretch of grass known as the National Mall. We're just about to enter through the security checkpoint in front of the Washington Monument. To our left, I can make out the Capitol building with its dome glistening in the high summer sun. To our right, though it's blocked by a slight downward sloping hill, I know sits the reflecting pool that draws a line west to the Lincoln Memorial.

After a brief x ray wand over Mulder's backpack, and a flash of our credentials to allow our weapons through, we make it through the security gate without a hitch. I barely have a moment to take a look around before Mulder's hand is once again wrapped around my wrist dragging me along to some known only to him destination.

Once we're through the bottleneck of people exiting the checkpoint, Mulder slows down a bit, though his hand has now repositioned itself from my wrist to my hand. Silently we walk through the crowd, holding hands, each aware of it, but neither letting on that anything is unusual between us. I'm sure we don't look much different from any other couple enjoying the holiday day off.

Except that we're not a couple.

Mulder guides us on a meandering tour of the area. There are tents struck here and there, many sheltering various Fourth of July related paraphernalia. Mulder picks up a free red, white, and blue Lei for each of us, which a man dressed as Ben Franklin is passing out. I'm not entirely sure what Hawaiian flower necklaces and the Founding Fathers have in common, but I don't really bother to ponder it in too much depth as Mulder places the one for me over my head and around my neck. In spite of the heat, I shiver when his finger brushes briefly against me.

Scattered about, there are several vendors selling hot dogs, ice cream and soda. I feel a little like I did as a child when my family would go to the state fair. The rule was to stop at each different food stand. It was the one time every year my mother insisted that all of us kids ate junk the entire day. Mulder and I don't keep up that particular tradition, but we do stop to indulge in a snow cone. For some reason it pleases me to learn that Mulder's favorite flavor is grape, just like mine. It's the little things like that I wish I knew more about him. I guess this is a good place to start. Especially when I see Mulder's lips start to turn a deep purple, not that I make it a habit to notice Mulder's lips.

As we continue on down the mall, Mulder spots something.

"Hey Scully, check it out."

There are a group of about five men dressed in Continental Army uniforms standing in front of a fabricated Revolutionary war camp posing for pictures. Mulder pushes me gently toward the actors, and hands a passerby his camera. I don't know why, but it makes me feel somewhat silly surrounded by men in costume with Mulder's arms slung over my shoulder. I'm sure that's why he did it. I think Mulder thrives on trying to pull me out of my shell. I'm glad he feels I'm worth the effort. I know that sometimes that's what it is, an effort, but I think it's becoming easier for him... and for me.

After the photo we continue on our seemingly destinationless walk, which is getting tougher as more people fill into the grassy mall area.

"Mulder, it's getting pretty crowded. Shouldn't we find a place to watch the fireworks? At least set down a blanket, or something?"

"We're not going to watch them from here, Scully."

"What do you mean? Isn't that why you dragged me out here?"

Mulder sticks out his lower lip in a pathetically adorable pout. I try, but I can't completely control the corners of my mouth from turning into a smile. He's still holding my hand as we reach the southern end of the mall.

"You didn't have to come, Scully," he says lightheartedly. He knows I'm not really complaining just as much as I do. "But you're right, it is too crowded here."

"Then where are we going?"

"Down there." He points towards the Potomac River tidal basin which glistens like a watery carpet in front of the Jefferson Memorial.  
"You think nobody else knows about that spot?"

"Trust me, Scully."

I do.

We pass through yet another security checkpoint just before reaching the pathway that winds around the lake-like tidal basin. This is one of my favorite places in all of The District. In the Spring-time, the cherry blossom trees line the shore creating a postcard picturesque scene. To the south, the Jefferson Memorial stands gallantly, its reflection sparkling in the calm waters. The basin is approximately five miles around, and dotting the surface there are about fifty, two and four person paddle boats which tourists can rent from a nearby kiosk. A particularly vivid memory leaps to mind of another summer many years ago.

"What are you smiling about Scully?" Mulder has quite an amused smirk on his face, which tells me I must have an equally absurd grin on mine. I look down at the ground and shake my head.

"It's nothing, Mulder."

We walk along the path toward the monument, taking our time and ducking under the occasional overgrown tree.

"Come on, Scully. No secrets or I'm telling the teacher."

The corners of my mouth turn up and I press my lips together. Suddenly, the comfort I feel with him today propels me to tell him the story.

"I was just flashing back to something that happened when I was a freshman in college."

"Yeah?" He sounds genuinely interested, so I continue.

"A new boyfriend of mine suggested we come here and rent a paddle boat, like that." I point out to one of blue boats with a young couple pedaling slowly nearby.

"Oooh, please continue."

I let out a soft chuckle.

"He said it would be a good opportunity for us to get to know each other, but what he meant to say was that it was a clever romantic excuse to entice me to make out with him."

"You needed an excuse?"

I ignore him and continue, a smile never leaving my face.

"When we got out onto the water, he made his move. I was a little nervous, since he was my first 'adult' boyfriend. I wanted to seem sophisticated, and not prudish, so I didn't stop him when the molded plastic console in the center of the boat forced him into an awkward position."

"What position?" Mulder waggles his eyebrows. He's really enjoying this.

"Not like that Mulder. He had to twist around until he was practically standing over me. It was anything but romantic actually. Anyway, he lost his balance, and..."

"He ended up in the drink."

"Yes, and then I stood up to help him back into the boat, but his weight jostled the boat around and I was thrown overboard as well."

"I'm guessing that relationship ended pretty quickly."

"Well, yes," I say, then add a moment later, "but not because of that."

"Sounds like there's more to the story, Scully."

I know I shouldn't say more, but I can't seem to stop myself. So far, the day has been wonderful. Mulder and I so rarely just spend a day together for the sole purpose of having fun. In fact, I honestly can't remember the last time we did something like this. Maybe never. I guess, it's made me more open to talking about personal memories.

"Luckily, we weren't very far from shore, or very close to other people. We dragged ourselves out of the water, tied the boat up and took a walk back in those trees to dry off. The woods are much thicker back there, and it was towards the end of the tourist season, so not many people were around." I clear my throat. "Anyway, one thing led to another..."

"You didn't?"

"That's all I'm saying Mulder."

"Well, I'm shocked, Scully. And not just a little turned on."

I playfully shove his shoulder. I'm shocked too. Not by Mulder's comment, but because I just retold that story - to Mulder. To be honest, I can't even believe that's a moment from my life.

"I guess I was less reserved in college."

"What, you wouldn't do that now?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. Hypothetically, of course."

"I can't say I see myself in that particular situation at this point in my life. No. I'd probably just wind up getting caught and find myself in front of an OPR panel."

"Is that the only reason?"

That and the list of people I'd be willing to try it with is pretty short at the moment, I think but don't say. Instead I continue walking.

We arrive at the steps to the Jefferson Memorial. Surprisingly, there are very few people here. Mulder was right. Most are crammed into the relatively small rectangle of the Mall. There are a few around us, but not enough to make it stifling.

It's nearing dusk, and the red-orange sun is reflecting both off the white marble dome of the monument and off of the still water. We walk up the steps and sit down near the top with Thomas Jefferson looming behind us. We probably have an hour before the fireworks begin, which gives us plenty of time to enjoy the beauty of the scene. In front of us, the Washington Monument spikes up out of the trees, and just to its left sits the White House.

"So, what do you have in that bag anyway, Mulder?"

"What? This?" Mulder pulls the blue bag up onto his lap, and unzips the top of it slowly, carefully concealing whatever is inside.

"Yes, that Mulder. Give up the goods already." I reach for the bag, but he pulls away.

"Uh, uh. You never finished your story."

"Yes I did."

He moves the bag a little further out of my reach, waiting for me to continue.

"Well, if you think I'm going to go into graphic detail, let me tell you that whatever is in that bag is not worth it." I cross my arms and stand my ground. "You're lucky I told you that much."

"You said your relationship didn't last very long, but not because you fell in the water. Why then?"

I sigh, and lean back on my hands. "I don't know Mulder."

"He wasn't very good, was he?"

I want to look appalled but instead manage to weakly conceal a smile. "I didn't say that."

"He was good?"

"Mulder..."

"Why then?"

"I was very young, Mulder. Most relationships end at some point or another. You either break up, or stay together forever."

He grows very serious for a moment, and I shudder from the intensity of his gaze. "Yes, that's true," he says, his voice velvety and soft.

"Some things just aren't meant to be, I suppose."

"Just as some things are," he says cryptically. Or at least, I convince myself for the moment that I have no idea what he's talking about. After another moment of Mulder's burning stare, his eyes soften and he throws me a close-lipped smile. "Hey, Scully, lets celebrate."

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a bottle and two champagne flutes.

"Mulder, I don't think we're supposed to have alcohol in here." I look around nervously.

"It's sparkling grape juice, Scully. How do you think I got it past security?"

"Somehow, it wouldn't surprise me if you had. I'm afraid of what else might be in that bag."

"Don't be such a prude Scully," he says, and then he winks at me. "I know better anyway."

Mulder pops the cork, and pours us each a glass of the bubbly pseudo champagne. He hands me one as the first bottle rocket streams up into the darkened sky over the National Mall.

"To Independence." He raises his glass up in a toast.

"To independence," I parrot. We tap our glasses together lightly, and take a sip of juice. We sit back on the steps, shoulder to shoulder, and watch the spectacular fireworks display. It's absolutely beautiful, and I can't believe I've never done this before. I turn towards Mulder, deciding whether I should tell him that.

"See, I told you," Mulder says, as if he's read my mind.

After the grand finale and the last of the pyrotechnics have erupted, we hear the cheer of the thousands of people on the mall. The fifty or so people near us start petering out and heading back to their car or hotel or wherever they came from, and soon we are the only people left.

I turn toward Mulder, who is lounged back on the steps with his hands pillowing his head.

"Mulder, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you had this planned pretty well."

"What?"

"You and my college boyfriend have more in common than I thought."

"Are you implying that I'm trying to seduce you, Scully?"

His bluntness makes my cheeks redden, though I'm not sure why I'm surprised. I know exactly what I was implying. If there's one thing about Mulder and me, it's that we have always understood each other's language, even if we don't always speak it.

"Scully, I can't believe you think that's what this day was all about. Can't a man invite his female friend out to a little Fourth of July fireworks without it being about romance?" He sits up a little, and faces me. If I was embarrassed before, I'm mortified now. Apparently I need to take a remedial course in Mulderspeak. My interpretive skills are getting rustier by the second. This is a disaster. The comfort we earned together today has been destroyed.

"That's not what I was suggesting at all, Mulder." I backpedal. I sit up straighter, wring my hands and look away from him. "I was merely suggesting that--"

And suddenly his hands are on my face. Before I can push him away and tell him I don't want him to say its okay and we can pretend this misunderstanding never happened, his lips are on my lips. As my surprise wears off, the kiss deepens, and I respond. His thumb traces soothing patterns on my cheek and I lift my hand up to touch the back of his neck. The short hairs there prick at my fingers, and he makes a low sound as I lightly glide my nails over his skin.

He pulls away finally, though his face remains close to mine, his hands never stopping their gentle movements. I take deep breaths, and can only listen when he speaks. My brain is too fuzzy to form coherent sentences of my own.

"Do I have your attention now?"

I nod.

"I was teasing you, Scully."

"I can see that now," I say, my voice a meek, scratchy impostor of its usual quality.

He smiles and kisses me again briefly, and then stands up, holding out his hand. "As much as I liked your woods story, I have something else in mind."

Something else?

"Come on, Scully. Lets get out of here."

I'm struck dumb at the moment and I take his hand, unable or unwilling to protest. He grabs the backpack, and he leads us down the monument's marble steps.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I wake up early the next morning. Though my eyes seem to take forever to focus, I can tell there is little light in the room. It's cool, but not cold, and as my eyes adjust, I can see a Mulder shaped figure looking down at me wearing a stupid grin and not much else.

"Mulder, you're staring at me."

"I'm not staring at you."

He continues to stare, and his eyes smile at me.

"Okay then. Why are you looking in my general direction?"

"I'm sorry Scully, but it's in my nature to analyze and observe unusual phenomena."

"Are you suggesting that I'm unusual phenomena?"

He laughs. "You are when you're naked in my bed."

A slow grin spreads across my face in spite of my mild embarrassment. I close my eyes briefly and laugh with him.

"I did see quite a few UFO's last night, so I'm assuming this is related," he says. His hand alternates between caressing my shoulder and pushing back wayward strands of my hair.

"Oh, it's related, but Mulder, those weren't UFO's. They were pyrotechnics."

"I don't know, Scully. I'm convinced that only alien intervention could make this event happen."

"Is that so? It had nothing to do with premeditation by a certain single minded FBI agent, then?"

"Are you sorry I dragged you out for fireworks, then Scully?"

He leans down and gives me a soft kiss on the lips, then traces random patters down my neck, nuzzling the sensitive spot below my ear. It tickles and I must admit I never pictured Mulder as a nuzzler. Not that I'm complaining.

"No Mulder, but I'm sorry it was such an effort to get me out there. I really am. It was wonderful. The whole day, actually, not just this."

I feel his lips turn into a predatory smile as he makes his way back up my neck to my face, leaving a wet trail along my skin. He pulls away to look at me.

"You know Scully, I think yesterday was our independence day."

"Yeah, ours and every other American."

"No, I mean us. It was ours too."

"I'm not following you."

"Independence is defined as the freedom from the control of others. Self-determination. But it can also be freedom from the control of one's own personal inhibitions and constraints."

"If that ever leaves this room, Mulder, you're a dead man," I say, my grin spreading across my face practically from ear to ear. I pull him down and place a kiss on his cheek; his day old whiskers scratch my lips in exquisite pain. "But I like that thought."

I pull back to look in his eyes.

"I think there were more than a few inhibitions lifted last night if my achy muscles are any indication," he says, and makes a low sound in his voice, a growl that I never would have guessed I'd hear come from Mulder in a million years.

"Mulder!" He chuckles, and my mock indignation transforms into a laugh as well.

"Happy Fourth of July, Scully."

"Isn't it technically the fifth now?"

"I don't care what day it is as long as you stay right here in this bed."

"I'm not going anywhere." I pull him back down over me as if he is a blanket - a big, Mulder quilt - and kiss him with as much passion as I'm capable of. I think I can live with our newly found freedom.

"Happy Independence Day, Mulder."

The End.


End file.
